


We'll Trick Everyone

by id_shade



Series: Trickster [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Identity Issues, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1807624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_shade/pseuds/id_shade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It not like he didn't warn them. Still, they seem so eager to trust this particular fox. Who is he to stop them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lydia

**Author's Note:**

> What with season 4 coming so soon, I found myself writing a little something last night. I decided to split it into three parts so I could just write it at my leisure.
> 
> I've got three reasonably short chapters planned, but I might keep this one going as a series. I'm not 100% on that, though. In all my years of fic writing, I don't think I've ever done a series before. I'll see if there's a demand for it first or anything horrible and iddy people would like to see. Full disclosure: I only ended up writing this because there were no prompts I particularly wanted to fill on the kink meme.
> 
> So! Speaking of horrible, iddy things - this is on my id_shade account for a reason. My id likes noncon, h/c, and dark themes up to and including incest. No, I don't know why. The tags for future chapters are subject to change, so, uh... Just a heads up to keep an eye on those if you're triggered by anything along those lines.

It was for fun - and for revenge, if he was being honest with himself. Really, though, weren’t those one in the same?

They had wanted to trap him. Again. They nearly had. They’d forgotten, or didn’t realize, it was different than the last time. That body he had expelled; the one made of smoke and bandages. It was a pathetic shell of a thing, but he could fix that.

Stiles was no trouble at all. He had slammed into his consciousness and felt only the beginnings of shock and resistance before the body dropped. He wasted no time in gathering what remained of Stiles up, tucking him away somewhere safe.

They’d trapped a fly. They handled it with such care! Oh, part of him was in there, yes, but only enough to provide a convincing distraction. No more of him than was usually in such an insect. He could feel them inside himself now, crawling just beneath his skin. Sometimes he opened Stiles’ bedroom window and worked at his flesh with a swiss army knife, letting them out for a bit of mischief.

He didn’t try much else. He didn’t dare. Not yet. He would reveal himself eventually, but in time.

For now, he went to school, he played lacrosse, he busied himself with the sundry supernatural beings that threatened Beacon Hills. He spent time with Stiles’ father, with Malia and Kira, with Lydia and Scott.

Lydia and Scott.

They had wronged him the most. They delighted him the most. And they both loved Stiles. Neither had taken much persuasion.

The banshee was a sensual little thing. She craved pleasure but hadn’t opened her legs to much after the death of her friend. Stiles, though… She was so glad he was still alive, so concerned for him once it was all over, so solicitous.

One day, during a free period, they’d had a talk. There was a lot of stammering, some blushing, eyes were averted more than once. “Friends with benefits,” Lydia had said at last, cutting off Stiles’ halting speech to give a name to what he was describing. She’d laughed, bit her lip, and looked deep into her eyes. She stared at him for a long time, until he felt the actual stirrings of Stiles inside himself; deep and distant, simple to push down. At last she’d nodded.

They’d met after school. He gave her a ride home but stopped in the woods. In the back seat, they had a heartfelt talk about everything that had happened.

Was he sure this was what he wanted?

Yes.

Was she sure she was okay with this?

Yes.

In the back seat of the jeep, Lydia laid on her back. They didn’t have a condom, so she lifted her skirt. The inside of her thighs were pale and soft. He spread her and tasted her. He licked her slowly and probed deeper for more. She squirmed and she moaned. He could have brought her to climax had she not stopped him.

“First,” she’d said, voice breathy as she sat up. “First, let me…” And she unbuttoned his pants. She took him in her mouth and then her throat, took him deep. There was so much that he would do to her now that Stiles wouldn’t. But it wasn’t time to reveal who he was, not yet. So Stiles gripped the back of the seat with one hand and the other came to rest near the back of Lydia head; fluttering nervously there, uncertain, fingers twisting in her hair.

Lydia knew what she was doing. Every few seconds, she took him out of her mouth. She licked the length of him with her tongue, each time, stopping just before the head. Lydia used her breath and her hands, changing her patterns to the sound of hitched breath and appreciative moans, finding what he liked.

He would have let himself come then and there, but no. Stiles wouldn’t. He stopped her like she’d stopped him. She did so immediately, like she’d been expecting as much. Lydia rose up onto her knees and kissed him then. Again the real Stiles stirred and, again, he was pushed down.

One of Lydia’s hands still worked at his cock, the other slid under his shirt. He reached under her skirt in turn and rubbed her. He knew how. Stiles wouldn’t have, but he didn’t think Lydia would question it. She made a noise against his mouth, biting his lower lip in surprise. He tasted blood.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he said, because it was. If anything, it took the edge off the sort of lust he was struggling to repress. He could feel her nails against his stomach, moving up to his chest. Her other hand left his cock long enough to find his free hand and guide it to her breasts. He squeezed them through her blouse and felt her mouth smile against his, her head nodding slightly, like he needed the encouragement.

He decided she would come first then, not out of consideration but pride. He might not be able to reveal himself yet, but he would take little pleasures where he could. He pushed his fingers inside her slow and brought them out quick to rub her again. Sometimes he pushed into her barely, sometimes deep. Always he slid out, fingers brushing over her clit as he resumed rubbing just above it.

Lydia went tense, her thighs closed around his hand for a moment. She was trying to hold off on climaxing, but it was a losing battle. She surrendered rather than ruin it. He felt her shudder then grow still. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were parted. She savored it and, again, Stiles stirred.

When Lydia opened her eyes, she smiled sheepishly. She straightened her skirt with one hand and stroked him quickly with the other, redoubling her previous efforts.

And then they were both finished. Lydia found a stack of fast food napkins in the arm rest and used one to wipe off her hand. She used another to discretely dab beneath her skirt before pulling her underwear back on. “Well… That was fun,” she said guardedly and, yes, he agreed with her that it had been. “We can do it again. More, if you want. At my house… Or school. I know some places.”

He nodded, in so many stumbling words, said he would like that.

Lydia pressed against him again. There was nothing sexual about it this time. She wanted to be closer to Stiles. She rested her head on his shoulder and stretched her legs across his lap. He put an arm around her and she grew relaxed. She talked. _At length._

She rambled on about relationships, about how she wasn’t ready for a serious one, even months after Aidan and after Allison. They could do this, though. They could do this if it didn’t complicate things. She didn’t want to complicate things, because, “You’re my friend.”

“You’re my friend, too,” he said.

Lydia shook her head. “Now that Allison’s…” She trailed off. She sighed. She looked at him with a serious set to her mouth, expression thoughtful. She raised a hand to his hair and brushed her fingers through it. “You’re my best friend now- And I know you still have Scott. That’s fine. I’m just…” Lydia’s voice cracked with emotion. She rolled her eyes at herself and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’m just so glad I didn’t lose you, too.”


	2. Scott

Scott was a little more difficult than Lydia, but not very.

Wolves. As much as they tried to deny their bestial nature, they were all animals deep down. Animals that bit and clawed and rutted in the dirt. All it really took was a tearful confession about repressed feelings and realizations. It wasn’t complete nonsense. He knew Stiles’ mind, knew he had a passing interest in men. If pressed, he might have experimented. Perhaps not with his best friend, but Scott didn’t know that.

All Scott knew was that his best friend was in pain, presumably.

Stiles got the call a week later, the day before a full moon. Of all things, he was inside Lydia when his phone alerted him to a text.

“Not yet,” gasped Lydia, glaring at him when he reached for it. “Almost.”

He finished. Lydia slid from coach’s desk and exchanged some inane pleasantries with him before leaving. He checked his phone.

Okay if I swing by your place tonight?

He texted back that it was with a single, curt word: Yes.

Things had been awkward between them this past week. Well. Awkward for Scott.

That night, Scott didn’t let himself in. He knocked on the door and, when Stiles opened it, he was distracted, staring off into the distance; at the moon, perhaps, it was full by now… Wolves…

He caught Scott’s attention and let him in. He told him his dad was at the station, offered to buy some pizza and maybe play some video games.

Scott started to nod but shook his head. They needed to talk, he said.

And so they did.

Scott was a thoughtful sort. Scott loved his friends. If this was how Stiles felt, well, he was willing to give it a try at least, if only to prove their’s was a different kind of chemistry.

He did his best to make Stiles look startled by the offer, even though he was hardly surprised, himself. Wolves would fuck anything if you put the idea in their head and the full moon was upon them.

They agreed to go to the bedroom. They agreed to sit on the bed. They slowly came to the conclusion that they should probably do something more intimate at some point. Eventually, Stiles was forced to initiate things.

He angled Scott’s mouth toward his and kissed him. He did it slow and he did it twice, first his bottom lip then the top. When he pulled away, those big, dumb eyes of Scott’s were wide. They stared at each other for a moment, then Scott glanced down, at Stiles’ lips, and moved in to initiate a kiss of his own.

Scott’s hand found his shoulder and hesitated then before settling. They kissed several times, each one lasting longer. “How much should we do,” Scott asked between kisses.

“How much do you want to do?”

“We should probably just…” Scott ran his thumb over Stiles’ shoulder, staring at the fabric of his shirt fixedly. “Make out?”

It didn’t end with making out.

The heat coming off Scott was making sweat bead on Stiles’ skin. He kissed the side of Scott’s mouth, his crooked jaw, his neck. He paused at his shoulder and pulled back the collar of Scott’s shirt. He exhaled slowly against the exposed skin and watched the gooseflesh rise on this boy who thought they were friends. Scott growled low in his throat. It wasn’t a threatening noise. He was trying to hold back.

And then Stiles was on his back and, really, it was about time. Scott caught his wrists and pinned them over Stiles’ head, against the pillows. He took a long, measuring look down at him. His fangs were out. His eyes glinted red in the darkness. ‘Is it all right?’ he was asking without speaking. And Stiles’ body nodded ‘yes’ while deep inside he screamed ‘no.’

Scott pulled Stiles’ shirt off, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the floor. He descended on him, tongue and teeth at the delicate flesh of his throat. He imagined Scott turning him by accident. He imagined Stiles’ body shattering and falling to dust. It wouldn’t be completely terrible. He would already be gone, out the window and looking for another host while Scott still sat there, stunned.

But no one wanted that.

Credit where credit was due, Scott had undoubtedly been passionate with the dead one and hadn’t turned her. He smiled to himself as Scott moved down; tongue licking, teeth grazing. Wolves could be insatiable, too.

Scott stopped suddenly, his fingers inside the waist of Stiles’ pants. “Stiles,” he said. His voice sounded strained and uncertain.

“This doesn’t have to change anything,” he said quickly, sensing Scott’s hesitance. “You’re still my best friend. Maybe we can just… sometimes…” He laughed. “I mean we’ve already gone this far.”

Scott laughed too, weakly. After a moment, he nodded. “Do you have any, um-”

“Yeah.” He climbed from the bed and crossed the room to his dresser. He retrieved the condoms and the lube he kept there for Lydia… and Malia… and now Scott.

Scott watched him as he returned to the bed. He stopped short of Scott and Scott reached up, to where he was standing. He unbuttoned Stiles’ pants. Scott paused, looking up as Stiles removed his shirt.

Scott watched him and did the same. Soon both of them were without clothes. He had no cause to be shy, but he did his best to make Stiles appear nervous. He climbed onto the bed. Soon they were kissing again. Soon Stiles was pushed back down to the mattress.

They were a tangle of limbs for several long minutes. They’d seen each other naked before, in the locker room, but it had never been like this. They had never explored, never tasted. ( _Why don’t you taste your friends, Stiles? They’re exquisite._ ) And Scott made the most wonderful sounds; desperate and bestial noises as he flipped Stiles over and pinned him down.

Scott fumbled with the condom and was rather careless with the lube. When he pushed inside Stiles he was, perhaps, too eager. Scott had no idea what he was doing above a primal level. It hurt _beautifully._ He braced himself against the headboard, each thrust sliding the bed. Scott’s hands were on the bones of his hips, rocking him back hard and to a steady rhythm.

The real Stiles was miserable. He could feel it. He let him come out more often now to see the things he saw and feel the things he felt. _Isn’t it wonderful, Stiles?_ He removed one hand from the headboard to stroke himself. _Don’t say I haven’t shown you a good time._ He seethed as Scott’s nails dug into his hips. The werewolf’s breath hitched as he came, entirely too soon.

Stiles finished himself off in the bathroom. When he came back, Scott was dressed again. He sat on the very edge of the bed, looking uncertain. When Stiles stopped in the center of the room, he glanced up. “I’m… sorry about that, man. It was weird and I don’t know what I was thinking and I’m pretty sure I hurt you. I mean, are you all right? I felt-”

Stiles raised a hand, cutting him off. No, he said. It was fine. It was great, if not awkward and- “There’s always next time.”

“Next time?” Scott repeated, and Stiles nodded.

“Yeah, if you want.”

Scott nodded too, after a fashion. “Yeah… Yeah, I think, maybe, I do.”

They took separate showers. They ordered pizza after that and played video games and greeted the Sheriff when he returned home. 

When it was quite late, he asked Scott if he wanted to spend the night. Scott did. There was some awkwardness about who would sleep where. Finally, they both decided on the bed. It was only with the lights out and the covers over them, only with Scott snoring softly, that the Nogitsune relinquished control to Stiles.

Stiles didn’t know what to do with the freedom at first. He was like someone seeing sunlight for the first time in years; at a loss, perhaps blind to it. After several minutes and laying there wide-eyed, he turned his head to Scott. He gave a start then. The Nogitsune almost didn’t catch it in time. He took back control of Stiles’ legs before he could scramble from the bed. Stiles started to scream, but the Nogitsune reclaimed his tongue.

Stiles grew very still again. He was crying, the Nogitsune noted with interest. He couldn’t pin down why, exactly. It seemed to be an abundance of reasons. Stiles was overwhelmed.

Finally, Stiles turned to Scott. His friend's back was to him. Stiles began to wake him up but seemed to think better of it. He was right. The Nogitsune would have stopped him.

Instead, Stiles bowed his head against Scott’s back and wrapped an arm around him. He breathed him and clutched his shirt. He did the latter several several times, flexing his fingers individually against Scott’s chest; slowly, as if his joints were stiff. All the while, he mouthed words like ‘please’ and ‘sorry’.

_Please, Scott. Please. I’m sorry. It’s not me, Scott. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

It was enough to finally wake Scott up. Stiles tensed when he did. He gripped the front of Scott’s shirt tight, lifted his head from the pillow, and took a deep breath.

The Nogitsune resumed control. He pushed Stiles back down.

Scott glanced at the arm around him and fidgeted awkwardly beneath it. He must have realized something was wrong then. The air was thick with anxiety, distress, utter despair. Scott closed his hand around Stiles’ wrist. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He said nothing in response. He smiled. He closed his eyes. He pretended to be asleep.


End file.
